


Phone of the Wind

by HappyUnluckyStar



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, angsty i guess, in which the golden garden doesn't exist so arianna doesn't recover from her illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 21:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyUnluckyStar/pseuds/HappyUnluckyStar
Summary: “This feels really weird,” he laughs, more to himself than her, twirling the telephone wire around his finger. “I mean, you can’t even hear me… Or can you? Arianna, can you hear me?”in which Luke tries to connect with Arianna one more time.





	Phone of the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> (it's funny that i keep writing angst when in reality i'm horrible at it)
> 
> i wrote this about a year ago after watching a documentary about the Phone of the Wind (kaze no denwa) and while i was still obsessed with lukianna. (i still don't have a good grasp on their character i'm sorry,,,)
> 
> so yeah i'm dumping this here. :")

“Well, we’re here.”

In reality, the phone booth looks plainer than he imagined, with its white frames and gleaming glass. Through the square windows Luke can see a small table. An old-fashioned telephone perched on top, along with an open notebook, scribbled on by the dozens of visitors that have stopped by.

“You go first, Luke,” Tony mutters, and without waiting for a response begins to trudge through the wild flowers.  


* * *

“Hello?” No reply. Of course. What was he expecting?

“This feels really weird,” he laughs, more to himself than her, twirling the telephone wire around his finger. “I mean, you can’t even hear me… Or can you? Arianna, can you hear me?”

He waits again.

No reply.

“Well, um.” His fixes his gaze on the black phone in front of him. “It feels more like I’m thinking out loud than actually talking to you. I don’t even know why I’m here- not that I’m saying I don’t want to talk to you!” he adds quickly. “I mean, this is rather daft. Talking through a disconnected telephone that carries your voice to the souls of the lost? Yeah, not my thing. Not normally, anyway.” God, at this point, he’s rambling. He doesn’t know what he’s even saying at this point.

“Tony’s doing okay.” He shifts his gaze on the boy, sitting in patches of colours, fists full of yanked grass. “I took care of him like you asked. He’s a bit of a shut-in, though, isn’t he? Ever since,” he swallows, then continues shakily, “ever since you left. Barely comes out of his room, even though Mum makes his favourite dinner or tries to bribe him with candy. I’m the only one he kinda talks to now. But you’re going to be able to talk to him soon. Once I’m done.”

He pauses, hoping that maybe this time she would answer him- Oh who was he kidding? He was just stalling. His chest begins to tighten. No, he mustn’t. Not in front of Tony. Not in front of anyone. Not in front of Arianna. Never in front of her. Wherever she is right now. She could be watching. It’s unreasonable to cry when you don’t have a _reason_ to, dammit, stop crying!

“I-I…”

His blurry, unblinking eyes catch the notebook beside the black phone. It’s filled with messages from different people. People who came to talk to their lost ones.

_I love you._

_I miss you._

_I will never forget you._

They ring out like a choir of bells, mingling and harmonising, ripping his insides into shreds. He almost drops the phone. Something stings the corner of his eyes, then obscures his vision completely. Are these tears? He can’t help the violent trembles that are wracking his body, making him unable to speak. A sob bubbles up in his throat. He mustn’t, he mustn’t-

He does.

His knees buckle. He drops to the hard floor with a thud.

“You’re haunting me, aren’t you?” He can't help the way his voice raises by two octaves, nor the fact that it's cracking and breaking just like he is. He squeezes his eyes shut. The words he’d been grasping at ever since he stepped into the booth come tumbling out. “You’re- you’re everywhere. All I can hear now is your voice. At night when I go to get a glass of water and I come back I see you, snug under the covers, cradling the jar I gave you like it’s a baby or something, laughing, so alive and happy but dead at the same time-” He shakes his head, as if to throw the lingering memories out of his head. “I don’t know if it’s really you or just my mind playing tricks on me!

“And those nights, when you are there, I wanted to tell you so many things. Things I never got to tell you when you were still here. That you were so much more than just a friend to me. You and Tony. You both meant so much to me. But mostly you, Arianna. Before I met you, nobody would talk to me. I was all alone. It felt horrible. Then that fateful night… you took me outside to that starry sky and introduced yourself. And at that moment, I knew everything would be different.

“I’m not really sure why, but you were different from all the other townspeople. You had a kind heart, and an energetic spirit. You were so nice to me. I don’t know why you decided to befriend me of all people, but I’m so glad you did. But now you’re gone and I miss you. I think I miss you more than I was willing to admit before.”

He lets out a choked laugh. “God, I’m an idiot, aren’t I? For not telling you all this until now. When you’re dead.”

“But that’s how I really feel. Heck, I think I-” He cuts himself off, then swallows. “Never mind. It’s too…cliché, I suppose. I won’t say it.” He doesn’t realise he hasn't stopped talking until his lungs feel like they're being crushed. He takes a sharp breath.

“And, um,” he continues, trying to speak without faltering. “I’m sorry for being a bad friend. You were growing weaker and weaker with each passing day, and I didn’t even notice… What kind of friend am I, if I can’t even recognise when my friend is in pain?”

He recognises the familiar sting of forming tears and swiftly changes the subject. “Remember the jar I gave you, Arianna? You never told me what you wished for. Though it would defeat the purpose of the jar if you did tell me.”

The air in the booth is suddenly still. He inhales sharply, blinking rapidly.

“A-Arianna…” His trembles make even the table shake. “I’m so sorry I didn’t keep my promise… I-I said we would see each other again… You even gave me that peck on the cheek-” He lifts his free hand to his cheek, still feeling the tingle from where her lips had been. This time, he lets fat beads of tears and sweet trickle down his face in streamlets and dribble onto the thin pages of the notebook.

“But I never got to… I’m so sorry. I promise to meet you again. For real. M-maybe in the next life. Maybe I could-” He laughs. “Never mind. But, Arianna, whether you’re listening or not, I promise to meet you again.”

His empty promise is heard only be the wind.

In response, the wind smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> (the jar thing is a reference to another fic that was in the works. yes this was supposed to be a sequel)
> 
> feedback is always good. please give feedback ;w;


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